A Shadow and a Thought
by whistlingawaythedark
Summary: This story takes a closer look at Aragorn's relationship with Eowyn and what might have happened between them had Aragorn chosen to explore his feelings for her. It is based more closely upon the movies than the books, but will veer off from both in certain places. Rating changed to M.
1. Edoras

**Author's Note:** This story will go deeper into Aragorn's relationship with Eowyn and it will be told from alternating points of view (Mostly Aragorn and Eowyn). It will have elements of the books and movies but it will veer off in some places. It has been a long time since I read the books so I apologize for any inaccuracies regarding people, places, etc. Rating is currently T but it may to change to M in later chapters.

 **Synopsis:** Aragorn arrives in Edoras burdened by his failure to hold the fellowship together and his grief over his choice to end his relationship with Arwen. There he meets the Lady Eowyn, a fair maiden with a strong will. Though he continues to dwell on memories of his beloved Arwen, he cannot deny that he is beginning to develop feelings for Eowyn that he hadn't expected.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.

* * *

The sun rose behind them as their horses bore them over the hills and plains of Rohan, the new light urging them onwards despite the feeling of unrelenting wariness. Aragorn had felt renewed energy upon Gandalf's unexpected arrival in the forest, but it was waning quickly. Days of travel with little rest or food, most of which had been on foot, appeared to have finally caught up with him. He could only hope that some rest could be found in Edoras, though he sensed that there was more evil to face before the time to replenish would come.

In his heart, Aragorn knew that their journey to rescue Merry and Pippin had not been in vain. There was a greater purpose in his coming here that had not been revealed thus far. And yet… he could not help but wonder if he had chosen the right path. What of Frodo now? Should he have gone with him? Would the quest fail?

These doubts continued to weigh upon him as he rode on, the cold wind biting at his face and blowing his hair into his eyes, making it impossible for him to get a clear view of the land in front of him. The party slowed as they reached the top of a small slope and they paused for a moment to gaze across the plains below.

As Aragorn brushed his hair from his face, he beheld from across the valley a great edifice atop a rocky hill with a cluster of houses below. A low wall made of stone wrapped its way around the hill, stopping at a tall gate. It was as he remembered it, though it had been decades since he had last visited this city.

He turned to Gandalf who was staring ahead thoughtfully.

"That is Edoras," said Gandalf. "And there dwells Theodan, King of Rohan…"

His voice trailed off, as if he had had another thought but he did not say more. After a slight pause, he leaned forward on his horse and shouted, "Make haste!"

Shadowfax took off in a gallop and Aragorn and the others followed close behind.

* * *

Eowyn opened the doors of the great hall and breathed in the cold morning. The sky was clear and as she walked to the edge of the balcony she could see far into the distance where the open plains disappeared into small slopes and grass-covered hills.

As was common for her these days, she felt tears clinging to her eyelids and threatening to dribble down her cheeks should she blink too hard. Theodred had died the previous night and her last shred of hope seemed to have gone with him. With the King's failing health, Eomer's forced absence, and Grima ever haunting her steps, she feared that there was little left for her in this wretched kingdom. If her uncle died and the throne fell completely into the hands of evil, then she would have no choice but to take her leave and escape before the door of her prison was sealed shut forever.

But that day was not today. And while her uncle continued to breath, she would stay by his side and fulfill her duties to the people of Rohan.

As her thoughts drifted, her gaze fell upon three riders galloping towards the city at great speed. As they came closer to the gate they began to slow and she was able to make them out more clearly.

There were three horses but four riders. Atop the first horse was an old man with long white hair and a matching beard. He wore a white cloak and carried a long staff that was carved into a strange design at the top. She stiffened with fear as her first thought was of Saruman, but at second glance she noticed that he seemed to glow with a peculiar light. Although she could not explain it, she immediately knew it in her heart that this man was not evil.

The second horse carried two riders, one with golden blond hair reaching his waist and tucked behind pointy ears. He was clad in green garb and carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows on his back. He was unmistakably an elf and behind him on the same horse sat a dwarf with a long auburn beard, an axe at his side. She thought it strange that they traveled together. For all she had heard of elves and dwarves, there was a deep-seated hate between the two races that went back centuries. She was again filled with a sense of goodwill that she could not explain.

The last rider was a man with dark hair that fell into his face. He also appeared to be clad in elven garb and he had a long sword hanging from his belt. She felt something stir in her as she watched this man, though she could not name it. As her eyes followed him, one of Rohan's flags was ripped from its poll by the wind. The man's face turned upwards briefly following the flag's progress as it sailed towards the ground. She could not be sure, but she thought his eyes swept over her before he turned to follow the others through the gates.

She stood for another moment before turning and retreating into the hall. Who were these strange travelers?

Hope budded within her once more.

 **TBC... Please leave a review if you want more!  
**


	2. The Golden Hall

**Author's Note:** Chapters are short, which I am doing in the hopes of updating more frequently.

As they made their way up the rocky hill towards the king's hall, Aragorn felt an increasing sense of dread. The people they passed as they rode through the city stared at them wearily, mistrust in their eyes. All were silent and on guard. There was fear in the air and evil at work.

When they finally approached the hall Aragorn instinctually turned his head towards the balcony where he thought he had seen a woman with long golden hair as he passed through the gates. She was no longer there and he wondered whether he might have imagined her. Yet he felt sure that she had stood there, watching him as he entered the city.

He turned back to the others and realized they were dismounting their horses. It was time to meet the king.

The arms that caught her as she ran towards her uncle were strong but at the same time gentle. Ready to strike back and free herself she turned her head swiftly to meet the eyes of her captor and was shocked to find that it was the dark-haired man she had watched passing through the gates earlier.

"Wait." He said as he surveyed her and something about the softness in his voice and the steadiness of his gaze drained away all desire to fight him.

She turned her head back to watch the scene before her and although her body relaxed in his grip, the man did not release her.

Her uncle was cowering before the wizard. A horrible laughter that did not belong to him was issuing from his mouth and his eyes lolled in the back of his head as if he had gone mad.

She watched in terror as the wizard bore down upon him.

"Be gone!" The wizard shouted.

Letting out a growl, the king lunged forward and in an instant the wizard's staff cut the air and there was a flash that filled the whole hall.

The king yelled and there was an eerie silence in which everyone in the the hall seemed to be holding their breath.

Then the wizard stepped back and her uncle let out a moan and began to topple forward. It an instant she had pulled herself free from the man's grip, catching the king just before he fell from his throne.

Tears fell silently down her cheeks as she looked up into the face of the decaying old man.

And then right before her eyes, he changed. The color came back to his face, the blotches disappeared and the wrinkles faded. The bags beneath his eyes melted away and his wispy white hair became golden and shiny once more.

She met her uncle's eyes and smiled, the tears that now shone on her cheeks were tears of joy.

Out of the corner of his eye he had seen her, her golden hair catching the light that emanated from the wizard. She had appeared from some chamber off the hall running towards the king as he groaned and shook beneath Gandalf's towering frame.

Before he had even realized what he was doing, he had blocked her path, grasping her arms to prevent her from getting in between the wizard and the king. The glance they had shared, one of mingled surprise and curiosity, was there only for an instant before she turned back to watch as her king cackled and crumbled.

She did not fight him after that but he could feel her arms trembling against his finger tips. When there was a great flash and king's body went limp, he felt her tug at his grip and he released her instantly.

He watched as she caught the old man and held him up, her tears of despair soon transformed into tears of hope and happiness as his ghostly face youthened and returned to life.

"Eowyn…" The king whispered softly.

"I know your face."


	3. Wormtongue returns

**Author's note: TRIGGER WARNING- The rating has been changed to M for a scene involving sexual assault.  
**

Eowyn's voice rang out as the processional with Theodred's body made its way to the tomb where the young prince would lay. For all the tears she had shed that day her voice remained steady as she sang the lament for her young cousin.

Aragorn kept his head bowed in respect as he listened. Grief which was not his own tore through him as the words which came forth in the Rohirric language permeated every part of his being.

As the processional continued, his thoughts strayed to Wormtongue's departure. Aragorn did not know why he had shielded him from the King's wrath. It was as if a sudden urge had seized him, an in-suppressible instinct that had insisted that Wormtongue must live.

Gandalf had called it pity.

" _Pity is not something to be ignored Aragorn,"_ He had said.

" _It is something to listen to. Pity allows us to recognize the suffering of another. It gives us wisdom when our anger and fear threaten to consume us, to make us blind… Pity reminds us that darkness has its roots and that evil grows out of experience and is not born… Do not question your choice. There will be consequences, perhaps both good and evil… But we cannot know what lies ahead of us, we can only take comfort in the strength and goodness of our will."_

Aragorn understood the wisdom in Gandalf's words and nevertheless his choice unsettled him. Perhaps though, it was only exhaustion that fueled his fears. His heart was sore and his bones were wary. The joy he had felt earlier upon the return of the king's health had evaporated as quickly as it had come and it was his only wish to find a quiet place to rest. Unfortunately this would still be hours in its coming. He must first attend the feast that was to be a held in celebration of the king's return to health and sanity.

* * *

After the ceremony, Eowyn stood at the mirror in her chambers fastening the last strands of hair into the braided halo that circled her head. She didn't want to go to the feast. Her grief was still too near, enveloping her in a cloud of numbness, sapping away all other emotions and leaving her almost as despairing as she had been before her uncle's recovery earlier that day.

She stared at her pale reflection, wishing more than anything that the smile she forced onto her face could be real and genuine.

As she considered herself, the door opened quietly behind her.

"I'm coming Aldorra" She said quickly to her maid, realizing she had delayed too long and that her father must be asking for her.

There was no reply. She smoothed her dress and made to turn round but before she could do so fully, she felt someone's gruff hands wrap themselves firmly around her waist and a hot, wheezing breath blowing close to her ear.

She cried out and the voice that answered caused a paralyzing chill to spread down her body and settle in the pit of her stomach.

"Good evening m'lady" came Wormtongue's soft, wheezy drawl.

His voice was oily and smug. Temporarily immobilized with fear, she found herself being pushed face first against her bedroom wall, strands of his greasy hair brushing up against her neck and causing her to shiver in disgust.

He seemed to be trembling himself but she realized with a thrill of horror that his body was shuddering with a heady anticipation as he pressed the bulge of his erection against her buttocks, grinding into her from behind.

She began to struggle then and opened her mouth to scream but his hands suddenly came to fasten themselves around her neck and she choked incoherently.

"Let me see your face." He snarled and he turned her roughly to face him, letting go of her neck but keeping her pinned to the wall with his body.

"No one here to save your neck, I think. Everyone is too busy with their little celebration."

His eyes had a hungry look, the same one she had become all too accustomed to over the preceding months.

"How did you get back in?" She gasped, trying to wriggle free and becoming increasing panicked at the restriction of her movements.

She could feel tears pooling behind her eyes and she bit her tongue in an effort to hold them at bay.

"Never mind that now… I came back to take what should have been mine."

At that moment, his face came in close to hers and she turned her cheek hoping to avoid his lips. His tongue slid down the side of her cheek and then he used his hands to jerk her face sideways forcing her lips to join with his own.

His mouth tasted as foul as he smelled and she took this opportunity to bite down hard on his lower lip.

He yowled and let go, cursing at her, wiping the blood away with his sleeve. She made to push him out of the way but his hand came down hard on her cheek and he forced her against the wall again, using the weight of his body to prevent her from escaping.

"This will be so much easier for us both if you just cooperate."

His voice was dangerously quiet and she trembled.

"After all, you should be happy to lose your innocence…"

She squeezed her eyes shut as the weight of his words rested upon her. She had known what was coming, had known what his intentions were the minute he had forced himself upon her…

Suddenly and shockingly he wrenched her away from the wall and onto the bed, tearing at her dress with his disgusting fingernails, pulling it down off her shoulders and forcing himself on top of her as he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers.

She screamed now, as loud as she could, her voice echoing around the room, as she silently prayed that it would penetrate the walls and reach into the great hall.

The sound was cut off as he crushed his lips upon hers and slid his hand beneath her dress, his fingers finding their mark, causing her to convulse violently in her attempts to throw him off.

And then as suddenly as it had started… it stopped. She felt him being wrenched away from her and heard a deafening thud, which could only be the sound of a body being thrown straight onto the cold, stone floor.

Feeling dazed, she lifted her head a few inches off the bed.

Standing in front of her, his dark brown eyes wide and furious, was Aragorn.

Wormtongue lay crumpled at the floor at his feet, blood oozing from his head, his body limp and unconscious.

 **TBC... please leave a review!  
**


	4. The aftermath

**A/N: Thanks to those who left reviews!**

The celebration was loud and merry and if his head wasn't so full from the day's events, the joy and relief permeating the room might have been infectious. Gandalf was certainly enjoying himself. Aragorn, however, felt overwhelmed by the packed hall, the young hobbits' energy and enthusiasm, and the men chugging large flagons of beer and joking obnoxiously.

Retreating into a dark corner with his own drink, he found himself searching the crowd for Eowyn. For some reason he felt drawn to her and this was disconcerting, though he refused to follow the train of thought any further. His eyes scanned the room and he was surprised to find that she was not present. Perhaps she, like him, had felt the need for some quiet.

The noise level reached an excruciating level as the hobbits jumped up onto one of the tables and began to sing and dance, their feet slapping against the wood surface while the crowd cheered encouragement. He could see Gandalf chuckling as he watched them, raising his glass in salute.

Using the distraction they created as a means to escape, Aragorn set his drink on a nearby table and slipped from the hall, thinking he would step outside for a few moments to clear his head. He had almost reached a side door, which he knew led onto a small outdoor landing, when a woman's scream pierced the air. Immediately he changed his direction and sprinted towards the sound. The scream was cut off before he reached its source but he burst through the door to his right and felt his stomach drop at the scene that met his eyes.

Eowyn lay writhing on a bed beneath the slithery form of Grima Wormtongue, his greasy curtain of hair shielding his face from view as he groped beneath the folds of her dress and crushed his lips against hers. Unable to scream or throw him off, she was clawing at his face with her fingernails, tears shining on her cheeks and a painful-looking welt blossoming beneath one of her eyes where he must have hit her.

In the few seconds that it took his brain to process what was in front of him, he saw Wormtongue's free hand move upwards to grasp Eowyn's throat, cutting off her airway.

Aragorn reacted instinctively. Surging forward, he grabbed the man around the waist, pulled him off of her and threw him violently towards the opposite wall.

There was a horrible cracking sound as Wormtongue hit the floor. Blood flowed from the place where his head had hit stone and he appeared to have been knocked unconscious.

Panting with adrenaline, he turned away from Wormtongue's crumpled form to face Eowyn. She was gazing at him with a look of mixed fear and astonishment. Surveying her closely, he took in more clearly the blue and purple bruise beneath her left eye, her disheveled hair and the additional fingerprint-shaped bruises forming on her neck. And then, without even thinking his gaze drifted downwards away from her face to her half-clothed body.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the place where her dress had been pulled down far enough to expose one of her breasts. It was perfectly formed, round, beautiful. Its red and taut nipple seemed to peek out at him and he was momentarily hypnotized, forgetting the indecency of staring at her forced nakedness so openly.

Further down, the skirt of her dress was hiked up, her legs still hanging open, bare skin visible almost to the tops of her thighs, though her most intimate parts remained covered. He felt his own body ache at the sight of it and a wave of shame and embarrassment overcame him as he recognized his arousal.

She made no move to cover herself but feeling disgusted with himself, he cleared his throat and turned away.

"Are… are you alright?" He asked quietly.

He heard rustling and he hoped she was adjusting her dress.

"Ye-yes."

There was a pause and then she added, her voice betraying her own embarrassment, "I-I'm decent."

He turned slowly and tried to keep his eyes on her face and not think about what he had just seen.

"He—how did he get back in?"

"I don't know." She replied. The fear had vanished from her expression, but she was shaking and as their eyes met she began to sob.

Again without really thinking about what he was doing he moved forwards and sat down on the bed beside her. To his surprise, she seemed to interpret this an as invitation and she collapsed immediately into his arms, gripping him tightly and burying her face in his shoulder.

Momentarily, he saw and felt Arwen in his mind and body. He seemed to be transported back to her, the memory of her flowery smell and feel of her soft skin filling his senses and obliterating the present reality.

Then a particularly loud sob caused the image to vanish and he willed away his guilt and the fresh wave of arousal that had accompanied the flashback.

He held Eowyn gently, focusing on the silkiness of her hair as he stroked it. Slowly he felt his own breathing becoming more rhythmic and steady and simultaneously her muffled sobs began to dissipate and her body became calm and peaceful.

He continued to stroke her hair and then finally he spoke.

"Eowyn."

She pulled away slightly and looked up at him, her face dangerously close, her eyes questioning.

"We need to take care of…" He jerked his head at Wormtongue's still unconscious form.

Her eyes narrowed.

"I don't want anyone to know."

Unable to focus on her properly, given the proximity of her lips to his own, he turned his face away from her.

"He needs to pay for what he's done." He said bitterly.

"I—let's move him into the hallway. We can call the guards, tell them he snuck back in and attacked us. But I don't want anyone to know what he did."

"I should have let your uncle kill the bastard." He replied, still refusing to look at her. Her shallow breathing kept him painfully aware of her proximity and his anger had now turned inwards. His pity for Wormtongue had been stupidity and it had come at a great cost, whatever Gandalf said.

She was silent for a long moment and he was afraid to look up, certain she was going to pull away, to scream at him, to speak the truth that he was to blame for what had just happened to her.

Instead, he felt a soft and gentle hand brush his cheek.

"It's okay."

He looked up into her eyes, seeking reassurance, though he couldn't believe it for himself.

"It's okay." She said again. "Just please don't make me go through the humiliation of reliving it to my uncle."

He nodded slowly in agreement as she dropped her hand. With a twinge of regret, he let go of her, trying to stifle his longing to maintain the physical contact.

Then he stood up and turned to face Wormtongue, who had begun to stir.

 **TBC…**


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